


promise me the sea

by goodfella_of_avos



Series: hydrogen & helium [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Bisexual Female Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Character(s) of Color, F/F, Fantasy, Meet-Cute, MerMay, Non-Explicit Sex, Sea Monsters, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 12:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodfella_of_avos/pseuds/goodfella_of_avos
Summary: The seas are the realm of all that dwells there, the skies belong to those with wings. Neither of them is humankind's best friend; they're all too busy with being at war with each other. Malou has no place to neither of these worlds, she is simply tolerated, yet, when she meets an intriguing girl, that tolerance may soon shift.





	promise me the sea

**Author's Note:**

> cw: (lowkey) sexual content, tw: none

_you should've got out of the red_  
_in the red you're better off dead_  
_deader than the red dead sea_

**shut eye; stealing sheep**

 

 

Her mother’s words are the first thing she thinks about— _be wary of humans_ , she had told her a lifetime ago when ‘human’ had simply been a word to describe a mythical creature living closer to the fabric of the sky than the ocean running through her veins, _they know no boundaries, they will take your freedom, dear child; do not let them—_ but the years have dulled their warning tone.

The girl looks harmless enough, she can barely be of age; she’s not one of their men, she’s not one of their hunters, but she might be one of their warriors.

She is also a good swimmer, long and powerful strokes, she likes watching her lean frame cut through the waves from afar, yet: this one is far off the coast, perhaps has been driven away farther than intended by a current, or perhaps there is an ulterior motive for coming out here, after all, these waters are known for being dangerous, riddled with her own kind and similar; selkies and sirens and mermaids, they are not all the same albeit not all the different. The sea pumps through each of their hearts.

Malou slowly twists a string of her black hair between her fingers, she has been meaning to braid it. In the end, she is still a woman—and she has taken a liking to pretty humans of either sex; this one, in particular, rouses her curiosity like the forbidden fruit. She is no stranger to sin, but she is a cautious sinner, she values her freedom above else. No pretty man nor woman could change that.

The sun reflects off the ocean’s surface, she hums along to its song, the thrum beneath her, gentle splashes lapping against her golden scales as she breathes the air, fresh and anew and, most importantly, untainted by mortal influence of any kind.

With the exception of this one, that is.

Her eyes—the color of a fruit she has only held once in her hands, neither truly green or yellow—are set on the horizon as if she wants to grasp it and Malou is intrigued enough to let her swim past her. The horizon is a wandering oasis, there is no end to it, it wraps around the world in an endless loop, but if anyone can reach it, it must be this girl for she can see the determination radiating off her, misplaced; she is more fire, she thinks, more a burning flame like one of the million stars above her head at night.

She watches for a moment longer, considers whether she wants to get involved, quite possibly in more than one way, and ultimately decides that she does want to, if only to satisfy the questions already nagging at her. It always has been her worst trait, being so curious and demanding.

She slips into the water effortlessly, the air gets pressed out of her lungs and replaced by salt water, the bright blue of the sky switches to the darker, softer blue of the ocean. She doesn’t even have to try, she can easily catch up to the girl and pass her, but she does not, she takes her time, and perhaps she uses these few moments to sneak a more intense look. The soaked, thin clothes leave few things to her imagination, except maybe the feel of her lips and fingers and the sounds she’d make beneath her.

She resurfaces next to her, two arms’ length apart. It takes a moment for her to get noticed; briefly, surprise and confusion crosses the girl’s face, before her eyes light up with the spirit of competition as an arrogant smile spreads across her features. It is attractive in its own way, Malou does like a challenge.

The swimmer picks up her pace. Unfortunately, she is no real match for her, she is human after all and humans have nothing on her, an ancient being who has breathed salt water for far longer than her entire family might has existed, but she is nice enough to pretend she is trying her hardest, if only for humoring her and seeing that smile stumble above her lips from time to time when she thinks she is winning their little race.

She doesn’t let her win though, she swims ahead of her and dives into the deep blue, glancing up to her wavering form above before she returns to the surface, turns up right in front of her, doesn’t quite startle her.

The gaze she receives is a curious one, fascinated, up and down, it is obvious she likes what she is seeing; Malou can return that sentiment.

Brown hair is kept back in a stern ponytail, wet curls stick to her neck, the left side of her skull has been shaven off a while ago; up close, her mouth seems tempting and her fingers—long and strong, ink in form of a snake curling around one of her hands—beckoning. Sin is so easy to fall for, especially if it comes in the form of a cheeky girl.

“Malou,” she offers her name first as they swim on the spot, the land just a distant memory behind them, and extends a hand.

“Neva,” the girl says, she needs two tries to find her hand, her tanned skin is surprisingly warm against her own and so very light.

“So, Neva,” she asks, the name tastes so nice on the tip of her tongue that she wants to speak it a couple more times; the shiver running through the swimmer’s body is satisfaction enough to have her looking for opportunities. “What do you do out here?”

“I swim,” she says and the arrogant smile tugs her lips; she thinks about wiping it away with and leaning in to kiss her instead.

“Where to?” Malou asks and her fin draws her close, a gentle touch, an invitation, another step in the cautious game they play.

“ _Somewhere_ ,” Neva mutters absentmindedly, gaze dropping to her lips and her tongue darts out, it is testing her already brittle patience, but she swallows the desires wailing up in her throat like hunger.

“You’re far from home,” she remarks and her hand reaches out to touch her face, all hard angles and sharp bones, she thinks she could cut herself; in that regard, they are opposites. “And, as you must know, these waters are dangerous even for the greatest of your warriors.” She smiles. It’s the dangerous kind.

“Oh?” Neva asks and mimics the expression on her face before leaning in closer. “I wonder, what will you do to me? I’ll have you know, I’m quite the vicious fighter.”

“No doubt,” Malou returns, her fingers ghosting along her neck and she runs her thumb over her throat, Neva arches into the touch. “I have quite some things in mind.”

Neva swallows and she feels the movement clearly under her fingertips, with a predator’s smile she leans in, slowly, teasing her, it’s still a game, after all.

She is pulled from her grip, to the depths beneath, before she can kiss her—one second to the next, just gone.

She dives in after her without wasting a split second to think; it’s not simply that she always gets what she wants. It’s more than that, it goes beyond simple interest or fascination; it is more of a personal issue than anything else.

The darkness soon swallows her, the bright sky a distant thought but she doesn’t need her eyes, the ocean tells her where to go, it whispers back to her, begs her to unleash its devastating power, it’s ancient, much more ancient than even her mind can comprehend and it matches her emotions, from time to time, her calm and playfulness, her anger and her fury.

And, as of right now, she is angry. She wants to set up a twisting storm, giant waves crushing down on her opponent, but it lives deep beneath the surface, where only ice would make a difference and while she wants danger, she doesn’t want to get herself or Neva caught up in it.

She quickly finds what she is looking for, a despicable creature, scales covered in a sickening green, its mind tainting the surrounding water, eyes the ever-shifting color of the seas. It snarls at her, it must have been a kind of dragon once, now envy has eaten it whole; limbs grow out of its giant body, out of place and distorted, eyes cover its head, it has two mouths and a thousand teeth.

One claw curls around Neva; Malou wonders why the pressure hasn’t crushed her yet.

The last bubbles of air rise from her nose as she struggles violently, a fire sparks in her chest, as if her skin has turned transparent—the same moment a sword sparks from her hand, like she has done it a hundred times before, and she forces it beneath the ill scales, Malou realizes that her interest for Neva stems from the faintly unnatural features of hers; this girl her heart desires is not human, she merely looks enough like one of them to be mistaken for something so minor and helplessly mortal.

The leviathan hisses, black blood leaks from the wound, spills to the floor, a cruel smile creeps on Neva’s face.

Both mouths snap open, but the grip has loosened enough for her to slip away—Malou darts forward and grabs her hand, pulling her up again, the water rushes in her ears until she breathes air again, dizzy, perhaps she should have slowed down, but she has had every reason to be fast; leviathans are feared monsters, so she drags her further away, to a small rise of rocks on which she pushes Neva, coughing and gasping. Yet, she is not dead.

She sits next to her, the second she pulls her lower body out of the water, it takes the shape of human legs. Gently, she puts a hand on Neva’s chest and draws out the rest of the water, it spills green and poisoned from her lips.

Then, she tilts up her chin and looks at her, she thinks she might remember; at least she sees it now, the small things that don’t make her human: the twitch of her lips and the twinkle of her eyes, the curve of her cheekbones and the way her hair clings to her skull.

“Guess I should thank you,” she mutters and blinks, Malou resists the urge to wipe the contaminated drops from her lashes.

“Maybe,” she returns and leans in another inch. “I should have known you’re no ordinary human.”

“I like to think I’m no more special than them,” Neva says, her breath is not water, nothing about her is water; she is at home in an entirely different element and yet the ocean welcomes her, doesn’t reject her, despite the fire in her chest, clawing at her ribs like a trapped beast. “But, yeah, if you’re referring to the fact that I’m not human, you’re right.”

She hums in response, the pulse beneath her fingertips picks up, making her wonder for fast it can go.

“What are you then?” she asks because she cannot help asking, her curiosity gets the better of her; the words stop at the girl’s lips, her thumb slightly pressed against them; she doesn’t quite mind though she still desires an answer, it is in her nature, she cannot go without explanation.

If Neva has wanted to respond, it is cut short thunder rolling in the distance. She hasn’t noticed the storm brewing over their heads, she has been careless—but the darkness creeping through Neva’s veins has nothing to do with that.

Her gaze drops to her hands, stained with pitch-black blood eating away the layers of her skin until nothing but raw flesh is left poisoning her bloodstream.

“Just give me a minute,” Neva mutters and sucks in a trembling breath, her lungs expand and crumble instead of holding in the air.

“That might be too long,” she replies, the magic comes easily enough, dances around her fingertips already as she works to draw the darkness from her body, out of her bloodstream, but it’s a leviathan’s blood, it’s not easy to make it bend to her will instead of its own.

Neva clenches her fists, her skin breaks open and bleeds, bright-red, like a flame with a never-to-be-stilled thirst. “Can you collect it in one of my hands?” she asks.

Malou looks at her with a frown.

“Please,” she says and her breath hitches in her throat, she can barely imagine how much it must be hurting—she doesn’t want to ask, she simply knows that it has eaten lesser people within a matter of seconds and twisted them.

So she does what she asks her to do, draws it all to her right hand, holds it there—holds the question she has on the tip of her tongue for another moment.

Neva summons her sword, red like fire, and cuts it off, leaving her open-mouthed and ready to lecture her. It barely takes a heartbeat until her bones regrow, followed by muscles and nerves and veins and tissue until the final layer of skin forms as if she has never been injured in the first place. It is strange indeed, she has never encountered anything like it at all before, and it makes her wonder—just who is this girl?

Malou tilts up her head, golden eyes looking into green ones, pale lips open for a reply but no sound leaves them, instead a strike of thunder illuminates their surroundings, the water tingles with the energy of an approaching storm.

She whirls around and looks at the sky; dark, gray clouds covering it, the sun nowhere to be seen, the first drops of rain splatter against her skin like needles.

A curse slips her in a tongue that uses no words.

Neva attempts saying something but she snatches her and dives underwater, hoping that she manages to survive once more; there is no time for explanations, if a lightning hits them … it will not end well. It won’t be a pleasant death either and whatever Neva does to survive a leviathan’s blood, there is no guarantee she can survive being struck by lightning.

She has been careless, _again_ , how much more careless can she get?

She resurfaces in a cave, just in the right moment before the storm breaks loose and wreaks havoc on the sea; the girl in her arms gasps for air and coughs up another gust of sea water as she pushes her on the rough rocks and climbs out herself.

“What was that about?” she asks, the water keeps spilling over her lips and Malou leans forward to put a hand on her chest, the frantic beating heart beneath, as she helps her.

“What do you think would have happened?” she asks with a scoff. “Don’t you think it would have been fatal if the storm would have hit us out in the open like that?”

Neva shrugs her shoulders like it doesn’t matter, like she doesn’t care. “I can’t die that easily.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says and drags the tips of her fingers along her collar bones. “How did you do that?”

“I didn’t do anything,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper on her skin. “It’s always been like that.”

It’s not the answer she’s been hoping for, it has been no true answer at all, it has simply given her more questions.

“What are you?” she asks again, can’t help it.

She shrugs and evades the question, her gaze goes out to the water instead of her as if it is a topic she doesn’t want to talk about, and Malou understands, her parents are not her favorite topic either; while she likes her mother, it is … not the relationship she wishes it to be.

“So, what do we do now?” Neva questions and the arrogant smiles returns to her face as she bares her throat as an invitation she cannot bring herself to ignore much longer for the sake of her patience and composure. “Wait here ‘til the storm has passed?”

“In a way, yes,” she says, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. “I assume you have ideas on how to spend the time?”

“I have a lot of ideas,” the girl mutters and looks at her, enraptured with her, and it fills her with satisfaction, so basic.

Her fingers trail along her wet clothes, Neva takes in a sharp breath and trembles, she leans forward another inch, they’re close enough that she could kiss her now and not stop even long after the sea has quieted down, but she hesitates, her veins don’t seem right—black, the poison still inside of her, she hasn’t gotten rid of everything.

She feels her expression change within seconds, something grips her stomach with long claws and sinks them into her guts.

The girl stifles a cough, but it comes out bloody, dripping with sickly green envy, Malou bites back another curse, it would have been naive to think it would be that easy, wouldn’t it?

She pushes her down with a stern look on her face, there is no telling if she is skilled enough with healing magic to draw it all out of her, but with the sea this furious it might just work, it has always listened to her, always happy to serve.

“Stay still,” she advises her, but it might just be an order from her mouth, her tone is harsh enough although she doesn’t want to order her … yet.

“I’m fine,” she protests, but another fit of coughs shakes her, the blood turning dark in her hands, her palms are littered with crescent scars; Malou frowns at her, decides not to glare.

Then she begins to work, humming a melody under her breath, singing always has been the highest and oldest form of magic, there is a reason humans listen to the sound of the open seas that much—yet, she can’t tell if it helps her, her blood is a steady rhythm in her hears, synchronized with the waves lapping against the shore, begging for her attention, begging to be used and she obliges.

Time looses its meaning, she works and works, there is little she can do about the pain at the very same time, and even though Neva grits her teeth against it and keeps up her cheeky demeanor, she falls unconscious at one point; Malou keeps it up.

The storm passes, morning passes, black-green poodles next to her, her magic runs dry, but then she is done, she has cleared it all. A relieved breath escapes her and she brushes wet curls from her face, leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Perhaps she will be asleep a little longer. Good. She has two things to do.

 

* * *

 

First, she visits her mother, deep beneath the sea where light is a rarity, broken down too often to arrive in all its brilliance, black walls stand against black waters and inside, the ghost of brightness skirts through the hallways, high enough to fit a leviathan in its entirety—before today is done, there will be one less.

The inhabitants watch her; mermaids and selkies and sirens and any other deep sea creature one’s mind can imagine, twisted and turned by their desires. Malou pays them no attention, she might not actually be one of them, but she has grown up around here and she is very capable of defending herself, no one doubts that.

Damon meets her halfway in, his red-brown curls waving around his head like a liquid halo, his gray eyes too light for their surroundings; he has adopted a fin of shimmering scales, the color of storms.

“Hello,” she says and smiles, even though she doesn’t feel like smiling, she has business.

He nods, silently regarding her with a glance. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she says and forces down the habit to twist one of her locks of hair around her finger; her hand falls on her necklace instead. It’s not the smarter choice. “I’m here to ask my mother something.”

Again, he nods, yet he is not done talking to her—and she does appreciate it, they’ve been friends for as long as she can think, but she’s not here for a lecture she will certainly receive if she tells him all about the girl with the quick mouth and green eyes making her wonder about all kinds of things.

“What is it?” she asks finally, swallowing all signs of the hurry she is in. In truth, she had hoped to resolve this matter before Neva wakes up, so she might never know (she would have told her … eventually), but this situation is shaping up to me a much bigger mess than she is and that is something she doesn’t like.

“Currently,” he says and manages to only briefly grind his teeth. “She is in the throne room with Lilith, so you might want to wait.”

“I can’t,” she mutters and chews the insides of her cheek; the last thing she wants is the queen of this palace to know, if she is right with her theory, that wouldn’t end well for any of them and she is tired enough of war and battles, she has waged enough of those for two lifetimes: it’s not that she thinks Neva incapable of defending herself, but she is fire and as readily as the ocean welcomes her like a mother greets a long-lost child, her very nature doesn’t match the unsteady crash of waves and thus, she can never win against someone who has been birthed by the very nature of it.

Damon cocks his head in question, she is tempted to tell him right here and now, with no regard for the many open ears that would love to get any kind of information that would suit enough to harm them—so she takes his hand and drags him into a side corridor, dark, abandoned, it stinks of foul breath and foul flesh, the undead must come through here often.

“I found a girl,” she tells him quietly, the water carries her words far enough. “Not human, she simply looks the part; eyes like one of their fruits, green and yellow, a rebellious attitude and cheeky smiles, she … she looks like a man we once knew.”

She thinks he might grind all his teeth into dust, judging from the way he clenches his jaws. For him, it has been always more than friendship and the betrayal sits deeper than for her; Malou has still to admit that she did like this man a bit more than she should have, but it had stayed admiration from the distance since it was no mutual interest. For Damon … it was the opposite. He still regrets.

“And you want to make sure,” he says, voice hollow. “I see.”

“It’s dire enough,” she replies and her fingers return to the leather string. “A leviathan already tried to eat her.”

“That is bad,” he says, lifting an eyebrow half an inch. “But if she is half as tough as I think she is, she can handle herself.”

Malou simply makes an agreeing noise, doesn’t want to think of the envy staining her veins and the blood burning away her skin until she could see her raw flesh, doesn’t want to imagine what could happen if she has missed something again, what this envy can turn her into—she gets so careless around her, it’s scary, but she loves the thrill too much to distance herself, pretend she hasn’t met a warrior making her head spin in the very same way she usually makes other people’s heads spin.

“Good luck,” he answers simply.

“Thank you,” she replies and wraps him up in a brief hug; she doesn’t want to go alone but she’d be asking too much if she asked him to join her—another painful memory, another one she doesn’t bring up.

“Take care,” he says, she returns the farewell and hurries towards the throne room.

Something has shifted, the conversations have fallen quiet around her and it has nothing to do with her presence; the doors swing open before she reaches them. A man strolls outside, the man who once owned this palace and the whole of the kingdom, the king who grew tired of being king.

He still carries himself with the same arrogance as back then and a misplaced air of superiority; he refuses to accommodate: he was one of the most beautiful of his kind before his fall and, to some degree, he still is. Black hair curls unruly and unholy against his temples and neck, eyes darker than the deepest pits pierce everyone who dares looking at him, lips curve into a cocky smile, tanned skin shines with sunlight, even deep down here, he is lean, all sharp bones and hard angles, black pools between his shoulder blades where his wings once sat.

Lucifer. The very first rebel, the ruler of the skies, now nothing more but a caricature of the fury and tyranny he once brought upon them.

She meets his gaze with her head held high and he slows to glare at her, she has the eyes and hair of the man who struck him down, neither of them chose it.

He scoffs, she’s not worth his attention, and leaves, but he has proven her a point without intending to—there is no reason to doubt now, she doesn’t even have to talk to her mother any longer. She does anyway.

The throne room is big enough to fit an entire army, for show only, a sphere of light hovers three dozen feet above her head, still far beyond the actual ceiling.

Poisonous green eyes greet her first, followed by blood-red hair and a smile cautioning her to stay away; Lilith has chosen not to appear with her scales and fin but she’s not exactly clothed either.

Malou does not mind looking at beautiful woman, but Lilith is not just a woman, she is the very first of her kind, born from sky-high waves and sea foam, she doesn’t know which lines not to cross.

Her mother’s eyes are calmer, a dark shade of green, dark hair kept from her phase, beneath black cloaks hide every inch of her skin, she’ll never be right again, the dust will never leave her. She bears the price of resurrection silently.

“What a surprise,” the queen says and shifts, the light bounces of her cheeks and lips, all to make an impression. Malou is sure she makes several impressions on all kinds of people.

“I’m not here to talk to you,” she says and swallows, there is no denying she admired her once. Once. Now, Lilith is just another disappointing adult. Like Lucifer. Like every other grown-up she met.

“Cold,” the queen remarks with no real interest, studies her hand. “Did you save a little bird from the jaws of envy and tempests?” She doesn’t look at her. No need, it has been another foolish assumption to think she wouldn’t notice—she owns the seas, all the waters on this planet. There is no hiding.

“Lucifer’s, yes?” Lilith says and glances at her, it’s not a question because she already knows. “You should introduce us. I’ve already met the rest of her family.”

“I don’t think I should,” she says, lets her impulsiveness and feelings get the better of her; Damon has always been the more patient one, the more eloquent one. At the core, she is a warrior, death and bloodshed is her heritage, and nothing can change that.

Lilith smiles and bares her teeth, sharp enough to tear through bone like it is air, a predator’s smile. Malou prefers sparring with a leviathan over dealing with her.

“Easy,” her mother says, her hand rests on the other woman’s shoulder. Her gaze is gentle when she meets her own, but the questions she intended asking die on her tongue; Lilith is a risk, she’ll always be a risk, and her heart beats fast in her chest already, she needs to get back to Neva, she needs to make sure this woman hasn’t already taken action—the problem with their kind, as much as they might be tolerated, is that their blood carries enough power to enhance others and everyone is longing for more, more, more.

She excuses herself with a gesture that can barely be excused as bow.

 

* * *

 

Second, she returns to face the leviathan. It’s not as much revenge as giving in to the thrill of the fight, it’s for her own satisfaction, it’s to work off the steam and anger before she returns to the surface where she could make the waters boil and twist to fit her mood, it’s to prove herself what she can do and what nobody will ever rob her off.

The creatures spits its poison at her from the dark, green colors the water, drifts towards her, tempts her with her very own envy, but she knows her sins, she knows what she hides from herself and she knows she is meant to greater things than squirm under the eyes of another woman and make herself smaller not to bring in danger: her mother taught her to stand up for herself.

She hasn’t taught her to risk her life fighting one of the most terrifying things in the ocean, she learned that herself.

The monsters snaps its jaws at her, gigantic enough to separate the black palace with a clean bite.

Malou draws the magic to her, hums another song under her breath.

The leviathan leaps and she dodges, the weight of her lance in her hand is familiar.

She forces it beneath its scales to agitate it, it’s most vulnerable from the inside. The problem lies with the two mouths, but considering its body doesn’t split, it has to join somewhere, so it shouldn’t matter where she forces the spell in … should. She’s going to find out soon enough.

It’s more of a dance than a fight, she is smaller and thus moves easier, the ocean runs through her veins and pumps in her ears, the creature doesn’t have much of a chance: she has been born to slay gods and tear them from the skies.

The magic bursts soundless from her hands, concentrated energy, spikes and blades and light, vanishes in the dark of its muzzle and burns it inside out, tears it apart with a sound that makes her ears tingle.

Green blood stains the ocean and twists the darkness, she lingers a moment longer to make sure she has actually killed it, even though the remains force feelings up her throat she’d rather keep down, even though they drag out memories she’d rather forget; she knows what she has done and she knows her shortcomings, she knows she sometimes still wonders how things would have turned out if she had been born out of different circumstances, but all that wondering means nothing.

And, if even a tiny thing had been different, she wouldn’t make her way to _her_ , would she?

 

* * *

 

Malou takes her time to swim back up. Fighting has drained her, so it is the better choice to take it slow and not rush it.

The sun stands high above her, the cave is far off in the distance, the gentle waves against her frame tell her where to find Neva.

She reaches the shoreline before afternoon falls and climbs out of the water, her legs unsteady beneath her, whether due to the exhaustion she hasn’t allowed to settle in or the relief she cannot say. She doesn’t want to either.

The girl looks up, as much a warrior as she is herself, green eyes sparkling, a smile tucks the corners of her mouth.

“I felt bad for a moment when I woke up without you,” she says and drops her hands into her lap. “I thought you’d lost interest.”

“I had things to take care of,” she says simply and lowers herself into the sand in front of her, brushing strings of her hair from her face.

“Well, I’m right here,” Neva says with an arrogant tilt of her head, Malou extends her hands and traces a finger along her throat, smiling at the shiver beneath her touch.

“I am aware,” she says. “I was hoping you knew how to wait.”

“I’ve been waiting,” she argues in a hoarse voice that nearly takes all of the self-restraint she has left.

Only now she notices the wings spread from her back, each of them twice as wide as she is tall, gray feathers gleaming in the sunlight—she has been busy cleaning them out, it seems, brushing and washing off blood, the drops darken the sand beneath: they’re beautiful. Breathtaking.

And it doesn’t matter whose blood she carries, it doesn’t matter that she has Lucifer’s smile and arrogance, it doesn’t matter their fathers hate each other, neither of them specifically asked for a situation like this.

“Nearly as pretty as you,” Malou whispers, a hand steady next to her.

“You’re the one to talk,” Neva says and swallows, she smiles as her nails scrap along her jaw.

Agonizingly slow she leans in to kiss her, barely a light touch of their lips, but the girl beneath her fingers trembles.

“What do I get?” Neva asks with her cheeky grin, lips brushing against hers as she speaks.

“Me,” Malou says and smiles sweetly at her.

“Promise me the sea,” she returns, meaning it more as a joke than a serious question.

“I’ll promise you the skies, if you ask,” she mutters and actually kisses her this time, giving in to the hot feeling in her chest and hands, the desire and the want, tongue against tongue and body against body, skin to skin, until she forgets to breathe, until she forgets about all the things that have worried her. There is only Neva now and she worships her like she is a goddess herself. Maybe she will be, one day, but today, they’re still young, they’re in love, and they’re reckless.


End file.
